


Thaw

by dalliancetreads



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: (they're the same age physically but Aro is a few centuries old), Aro's very early into his transition, F/M, Fingering, First Time, Hand Kink, I use a mix of male and female terms for his junk, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Strap-Ons, Torture of an extended metaphor, Trans Male Character, age gap, but doing zero research, light dom/sub themes, neither of them know what they're doing anyway 👍, writing for kinks you don't have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22979740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dalliancetreads/pseuds/dalliancetreads
Summary: Aro submits to the mortifying ordeal of being Known. from the tumblr prompt "Long Nights"
Relationships: Aro/Sulpicia (Twilight)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	Thaw

Aro took her from the iron-grip of winter, when the city was glittering with plated ice. She was living on the streets, not a soul in the world that cared to know her name. Only two wan flicks of heat winding through her cheeks and a thready heartbeat indicated that she was still alive. 

Honestly, he just wanted to make her into a quick meal before he turned homeward. And that’s what she would’ve been if the circumstances hadn’t given him any time to reconsider; if her hands weren’t already ice-cold, horribly stiff and totally ruined for reading her thoughts, if she wasn’t regarding Aro completely without fear, and if she didn’t say: 

“I know what you are,” slurring her words together. 

“Oh? What am I?” (A hint of frustration colouring his voice.)

“I’ll never tell.” She had the gall to look amused. 

He looked at her, then. Annoyed. Entitled. His hands crawled up her skin, scrabbling for any available flesh that wasn’t hardened by a rime of ice. 

No good. He’d have to strip her down or thaw her out. He bit the inside of his cheek, curiosity warring with his desire to head home as expediently as possible. (But he was still young, his coven-mates were coupled-up and happy enough without him, and Velathri echoed and yawned in the middle of winter.) 

He sighed, and resignedly tucked her against him. She didn’t protest, only made a soft, winded sound that might have just been his boot scraping on ice. 

He took her back to his lodgings, wrapped her in a woolen blanket, and spent the rest of the night spooning a hot, thin soup into her mouth. Slowly, so slowly. The dawning sun crept under the door by the time she was more than half-dead. 

She presented her hand to him, and he took it gratefully, closing his eyes as he kneaded her palm, striking out into her mind. He waded through her muddled gratitude, her utterly misinformed trust in him, her shivering delight in his slim fingers, the eager, possessive way his fingers leaped to grasp her hand, the pleasing sensation of slight pulling and friction (his lips pursed) her fingertips painfully raw —

And he came up against a white blankness. 

It seemed their conversation had been eaten by hypothermia. 

Aro bit into his cheek again, feeling the sting of venom. So the night had been a waste of his time, then, but — he worried his ragged skin between his teeth — wasn’t it already? Why did he care to waste his time trying to pry a few frozen thoughts from the head of such an inconsequential creature? 

“My name is Sulpicia,” she said, and her voice was soft, commanding, pushing his thoughts carelessly aside. “Did your father never teach you how to shake hands? It goes like this—” and she bounced his hand up and down more exuberantly than someone so freshly on their deathbed had any right to do. 

“Delighted to meet you,” Aro said, and, to his surprise, he genuinely was. 

* * *

He doesn’t remember when he stopped touching her. It was after he turned her, after she moved through Velathri like an avalanche, sliding her hands all across the tasteful sculptures (always playfully tweaking their nipples), the dried flowers and indigo fabrics, stopping to pluck at a harp or laugh in a dark room. It was after she started hanging off his coven-mates arms’, her face shining like a lantern. After he found the papers on his desk stacked neatly, his quills recut, a sachet of lavender tucked in a drawer. After she turned that face on him, offered him a secret smile, and he found himself reaching for metaphors to describe it. (A naked flame, a leaf on a tree in autumn, a cat curled in a light-flooded windowsill.) (The metaphors failed, as he had not seen anything that was akin to Sulpicia’s smile on him before. It was quite unlike anything else.) 

Not too long after that.

* * *

The following year, on one of the first long winter nights, Sulpicia absent-mindedly rubbed her hands together, fingers clinking against each other like blocks of ice. The fireplace behind her crackled gently but she did not raise her hands to it. Instead, she turned to look at Aro. The fires of her transformation had died down; her eyes were ember-dark. 

“I’m cold, Aro,” she said. 

“Impossible,” he replied. 

She huffed at him. 

“Maybe it’s the memory of cold you’re feeling?” 

She shook her head. She reached to tuck an errant curl behind her ear, but her hair was pinned back. “Could — could you please … warm me up?” 

As Sulpicia’s words sunk in, a log in the fireplace crackled as it fell apart, its center eaten to ashes. “Sulpicia, are you trying to _proposition_ me?” 

She glowered at him, and this pulled an oddly high-pitched laugh out of Aro as he realised he was right, which, of course, made her lips compress in cold rage. It was the kind of anger that covered humiliation, and she wasn’t the sort of person who gave into humiliation. 

“You’re adorable,” he said. “I thought you might be working on some kind of thank-you for saving your life, turning you... “ his voice drops a few notes, “but I didn’t turn you because I expected a repayment, and certainly… not like this —” 

(There was an element of premeditation, here, that he wouldn’t prod with a ten-foot pole. His coven-mates were conspicuously absent. Her cheeks were daubed with rouge. Her hair was pinned back when she usually had it in a loose cascade of curls.) 

“— a nicely-worded letter would’ve been perfectly acceptable, or, I don’t know, some number of flowers? Ten flowers? However many flowers are in a bouquet are a sufficient number —” 

He stopped when she became glacially still. 

“I’ve surprised you,” she said. 

“Yes! And that’s a marvel in of itself,” Aro said. She seemed to recoil at the kindness in his words. He felt a shock of pain in his cheek where he had been unconsciously biting. It was a welcome counterpoint to… whatever he was feeling. Because he _wanted_ her, when she presented herself so nicely, like a present. He wanted to close the distance between them and clasp her in his arms and kiss the edges of her mouth until she begged for it and not let her go until he’d explored every wrinkle in her weird little brain. 

He didn’t, of course. He was just so lonely, and she was so young and vulnerable. 

“You are surprising,” he admitted, gratingly. 

“That’s it? After _months and months —”_ her jaw snapped shut, her throat bobbing with secret vocalisations. 

A swill of venom in his mouth stung like vinegar. “I... I don’t know quite what to make of you.” 

“With that mind-reading gift of yours? Try again.” Sulpicia’s eyes were wet and deadly as firedamp. 

Aro opened his mouth in a dozen failed sentences. Eventually, she said in a cold, scraping voice: “Am I even a thought that occurs to you?” 

He tended to be stone-faced in these sorts of situations, but he hoped, for once, his face was half-compassion, and half as wretched as Sulpicia’s own. “You are,” he said and caught himself on the _but_. She heard it anyway. 

He let out a shaky breath. “Sulpicia, this might seem hypocritical to you, but I am very careful about who gets to — to know me — and you are so terribly young, trusting, and too full of surprises.” 

( _I know what you are_ scratching against the back of his skull) 

(She could, if she wanted to, break his heart into a million tiny pieces and it would be his fault for allowing her the opportunity) 

Judging by Sulpicia’s expression, her jerky, taut movements, she was moments away from...something. Raging at Aro, spitting, pushing him over. But in the long, awful silence, she just stood there and _looked_ at him. 

“You are fatally mistaken about me,” she pronounced, in her soft, compelling voice that coiled in the pit of his stomach. 

“Oh? In what regard?” 

Sulpicia squared her jaw. It was so terribly confident of her, what with Aro barely holding it together. Only the ignorant are confident of anything. Terribly ignorant, and terribly young, and so devastating it hurt him somewhere beneath his ribs. 

“You see, Aro, I already know you. Pretty much completely. Everything that your coven-mates know about you, including your sister. Everything that you’ve said and done in front of me, your habits, your sometimes stupidly self-conscious turns of phrase, the smells and colours you like, how you pretend you’re not superstitious when you are, how it breaks your heart when cats hiss and flee you, how you dislike people when they break their word, how easily your dislike turns to mistrust, how neurotic you are, how you look when you want someone to hold your hand and when there’s no-one around except me how you hold your hands together —” She took a deep breath here, giving him a look that said _I could go on_ . “The point is, these aren’t just random _things_ . They are a collection of who you _are_. I just dare you to tell me something that I don’t know or can’t safely guess.” 

She gave him a moment to respond, but when he didn’t, she carried on with implacable confidence. “You say I’m surprising, but that’s only because you haven’t _touched_ me. So, so, touch me.” 

And she stretched out a hand. Despite the fine tremor in her voice, her hand was perfectly still, as though sculpted from ice.

He knew what he’d find in that hand. A burning, aching want. Knowledge. Ruin. An avalanche held back by a few layers of skin. 

And he did want her to touch him — if only to hold the pieces of him together. But Aro’s hands stayed locked at his sides. He looked at her helplessly and that was — the largest concession he could make. 

Sulpicia closed her eyes for the briefest moment, but it was a release. He didn’t realise how sundering her gaze was, pulling him apart. 

Then she snapped her eyes open, and he _felt_ her burning. 

“I’m going to try something, Aro,” she said. “And if you don’t like it, you tell me to stop, and I’ll stop. Okay?” 

Something had changed. The air around her was just a fraction hotter. Her gaze shuttered, like the grill over a furnace. 

“Okay,” he said, noting the quiver in his voice but powerless to stamp it out. Slow loops of heat twisted in his body, uncomfortably.

“You’re going to have to trust me. Let me make the decisions. And most importantly, _not think too much_. Focus on — on the sensations. But if something doesn’t feel right, let me know. Can you do that?” 

All the blood in his body suddenly rushed to his face, beat little hands against his skin. He carefully swirled the venom around his mouth. He wanted this, he wanted it very badly. Just the thought of Sulpicia telling him what to do with that leading, honeyed voice sent a deep thrill straight through him. 

“I’ll try,” he said.

“Very good,” she said, and she shifted the slant of her shoulders. Her voice was warmer, richer, like mulled wine. It was the sort of voice you obeyed if it asked you to jump off a cliff. 

“Okay,” he repeated, tasting the sound of surrender. It was… not unpleasant. “Tell me what you want me to do.” 

“You can start by taking your clothes off.” 

He baulked at her words. “What, no k-kissing, first?” 

Sulpicia’s laugh filled the room. “Oh, Aro,” she said. She didn’t seem so young, so vulnerable, then. She looked like she could start a forest fire, and what could he do with that? He took his clothes off so fast he almost tripped over. He wasn’t — going to think about it, about anything, except the delicious gravity of her words, the power they had over him, that he gave her to have over him. The heat in his body coiled faster, chafing against him. 

She made a low, appreciative sound in the back of her throat as he stood there, awkwardly trying to cover himself. Most of his previous couplings had been done in the dark, usually frantic, with the bare minimum amount of clothes off needed for the act. Certainly not in a room lit by a well-stocked fire, leisurely scrutinized by a woman who might even be able to see his bones reddening. 

Sulpicia pointed to the rug behind her, near the fireplace (a very convenient soft fur rug, fire-warmed, but he was not. Thinking.) “Lie down. On your back.” 

She waited until he obeyed before she slid her own clothes off, easily, as if… he closed his eyes and burrowed himself into the rug, waiting, breathless. 

Then he felt her kneeling over him. 

“I need you to lock your hands together and put them behind your back. I don’t want you to put your hands on me and read my mind unless I tell you to.” 

“I thought you wanted me to touch you?” 

“That was then, this is now,” she said firmly. “You lost that privilege when you acted like a prick, and you’re going to have to be very good to me before you have it back.” 

Aro felt a squirming, dreadful anxiety, his mind rebuking her, rebuking him for making him so vulnerable, but he chose, in that moment, to trust her. 

( _I’ll never tell_ like a caress across his stomach) 

He did what she told him to do. It was an uncomfortable position to hold for very long, and he knew he would be aching at the end of the night, and it was worse not knowing what she was thinking, the twisting inside him becoming unbearable. 

“That’s good,” she said. She swung her legs over him, pinning him to the rug with her pelvis over the tops of his thighs. She smiled as she watched him settle into the position, and swooped her face low over his. She kissed him with a cursory, delicate sweep of her tongue. 

He pulled his head back, gaping. “You’ve done this before.” 

“Yes,” Sulpicia said. She ran a light-fingered touch down his chest, giving him a slightly exasperated look. “A partner, once, was… this was the only thing that got them going.” 

He opened his mouth to ask another question but she silenced him. “No more questions, Aro, or I _will_ gag you.” 

Her lips quirked up as she considered the prospect, and she dragged her thumb against his lips, wetting it with his saliva. Mapping out where a gag might fit. 

As her thumb made a second pass against his lips, she slowly pushed it inside his mouth and he took it gleefully, sucking on it hard enough to draw the blood to the tip. She gasped and the ghost of an emotion — surprise? — crossed her face, before it fell into a salacious, open-mouthed grin. She ground her hips into him, the sensation sending a jolt straight to his cock. 

Aro’s fingers dug into each other, and his knuckles started screaming. He felt entirely too desperate to free his hands, to latch on and _force_ the thoughts out of that finely-shaped skull. He started squirming, but he was trapped by thighs firmly locked over his own. 

“Sulpicia,” he gasped, each syllable plucked out of him. “Sulpicia —” 

She kissed him again, if only to silence him, and he was lost in the pure sensation of swirling tongue and soft lips. Her tongue touched the wound on his inner cheek (another jolt, pain this time, his hips bucking) and she broke away. 

“How are you feeling?” Sulpicia asked. 

“Good. Really good — ” he squirmed again, slick between his thighs. 

“You’re doing perfectly,” she said, and she dipped her head down, starting to take small sips of his skin, down his mouth and throat. Teasing little bites, sucking just enough to raise blood. She ran inquisitive hands down his body and everywhere she touched felt… warm, nice. 

Then she pushed him into the rug, and her mouth and hands made a thorough inspection of Aro’s body, noting the places she bit or licked or kissed that wrenched from his throat a very un-Aro-like mewling sound, her fingers tracing the shape of his hipbones, between his ribs, all the hollows and spaces that erupted in gooseflesh, making a library of each little gasp or involuntary twitch or bite of the lip and she smiled ruefully with each new discovery, tucking that information away for later. She found all of his buttons and pushed them all at once, like a kid on an elevator, and he _loved_ it, he loved the reaction that his body had for her, her possessiveness, the way she wrung every secret out of his body. 

Sulpicia slid off him and locked eyes as she opened his legs with aching slowness. Aro tried speeding up the process but her grip was firm, inexorable. Her gaze heated him up even as she exposed him more to the night air. She started another trail of little biting kisses up his thighs, and when she reached the divot of his pelvis, his legs were pressed flat against the rug, toes curling. 

She pulled away slowly. “I’m going to take you in my mouth,” she said. She treaded a hand through the hair on his pubic mound and gently stroked him as she waited for his assent. 

He made a strangled noise and nodded. 

“You’re being very good,” she said, and the pleased note in her voice did things to him. As if he wasn’t already wet and aching. Aro turned his head and pushed harder into the rug, dangerously close to saying _please, please_. He bit down on his lip, hard, too proud to beg. 

Sulpicia let the anticipation build as she slowly leaned down and licked him, exploring the tight knot with soft jabs of her tongue. Her touch was so gentle that he stifled a cry and tried to thrust his hips closer. When she took his entire cock in her mouth, stiff and engorged, his hips shot up. Sulpicia was ready for that, and squeezed his hips, pushing him back down. She continued to eat him out relentlessly, her hands on Aro’s hips squeezing him repetitively, reassuringly, in time with the rhythm she set as she sucked his cock. The hot pleasure built in him unbearably fast. 

She broke contact again, and he whimpered at the sudden rush of air, the ache of his cock. 

“I love all the noises you make,” Supicia said. Her mouth was shiny with him, the rouge on her cheeks running perversely, dripping from her chin in long, bloody strands. She showed him a predatory flash of teeth. “But on the whole, you’re a lot… quieter than I expected.” 

“I can be loud,” he gasped. “If - if you want.” 

Her shoulders knocked against his knees as she shrugged. “Only if you want to.” 

He nodded, his hair crushing against the fur rug. 

“I want to feel inside you,” she said. She maneuvered her shoulders to expose him more, and her fingers tapped lightly on his pelvis. “Are you okay with… here?” She danced fingers down his slit, so lightly he could cry. “Or I could try… here,” she said as her fingers continued lower, across the shivering, sensitive skin to the tight pucker of his hole, and he bit down a cry, and then he remembered she _wanted_ to hear him and the sound loosened into a high-pitched keen, “if you’re more comfortable with that.” 

“I - I don’t care, anywhere, _please — "_ And he bit his lips again, writhing against the rug as he lost the last shreds of his dignity. His hands, trapped under him, were tingling painfully with pins and needles, starting to go numb. 

She hummed appreciatively. Her fingers traced over his slit in a slow figure-of-eight movement. Again he tried to thrust his hips towards her but she had one hand braced on his hip, keeping him pinned like an insect.

“Ah, ah,” she tutted, but she slid a finger inside him, just the tip at first, then to the first knuckle, excruciatingly, inch by inch, opening him. She dragged it out again, and pushed it back in. He tried to squeeze on her finger, holding her there, urging her inside, and he found that he was choking on pleas, begging her for more, faster. 

Her mouth made a seal against his twitching cock, and he could _feel_ the shape of her mouth was a grin, and he felt like he was being flayed alive, wrenched open, and wrapped safely in her embrace all instantaneously. His words dissolved away into useless cries as she continued, intent on fucking the higher cognitive functioning out of his brain. 

In what seemed like barely any time at all, his pleasure drew to a dizzying crescendo and his brain whited out as it crashed around him like meltwater, and still Sulpicia continued to suck and finger him until his whole body shook with overstimulation, and only then, his legs wobbling, biting the skin of his lips open, she let him go. 

Before he could fully come back to himself, she pushed his legs down and straddled him again. He cried weakly. “I’m not done with you, yet,” she warned. She kissed him with a soft press of her laughing mouth, giving him a taste of himself, salty and slightly crisp. 

Sulpicia ground against his hips. “Just look at you,” she crowed, threading a hand through his hair and pulling his head up. And he was sure he looked a state, his hair wild and sticking up at all angles, lips puffy and purpled from biting, body shining with saliva and strawberry-red marks. But he only had eyes for her, the jawline he wanted to run a hand down, the curls he wanted to shake free from their pins, her waist he needed to wrap his hands around. “I could come, just like this,” she said. 

She rocked against him again. “Do you want me to do that?”. 

“You can do anything — anything you want,” he said. 

“I know that,” she said, a not-insignificant amount of satisfaction in her voice. “But what do _you_ want?” 

“I want to — to touch you, to have you in my hands. _Please,_ ” he croaked. 

Sulpicia hummed, appearing to consider his request. “You’ve done everything I’ve asked of you,” she said. “So, yes, you may. Give me your hands.” 

With a grunt of relief, Aro pulled them out from under him and presented them to her. They were completely numb, the fingers stiff, and as she took them, he couldn’t read her thoughts at all. She massaged the sore tissues with her own hands, working the flesh to life, and he started to get flashes, magnesium-bright, of aching arousal and smug satisfaction. Her other thoughts were scattered, searing, and before he could piece them together she circled his wrists and brought his hands to her mouth. He gasped in surprise as she started to suck on his fingers, rapaciously taking as much as she could into her mouth at a time and sucking hard, her tongue pushing into the folds between his digits, teeth nibbling on his fingers, licking the wounds inflicted by his own fingernails closed. She moaned around his fingers and he felt it reverberating down his hand, arm, through his body. Even though he had been completely spent less than a minute prior, he felt a painful twitch in his groin. 

“Aro, put your hands on me,” she said, and he eagerly obeyed. As he ran giddy hands down her flanks she stretched against him. Her skin was pliant, soft, and responsive. His running hands picked up her thoughts as though he were striking a match, sensations, and incoherencies loosely strung together like beads on a string, but he sifted through her thoughts, parsing them, pulling them apart to find underneath it all… a white-hot blankness, pure instinct and desire run together like melted wax. He moaned it as he experienced his own touch like a voyeur, and he arched in to kiss him again. “I have another surprise,” she breathed against his cheek. “I wasn’t sure...if I should show you tonight, but you’re doing so well.” 

“Oh?” Was all he could say, too fucked-out and sensate to say anything that required brainwork. 

She leaned towards the fireplace and removed something from an alcove, wrapped in cloth. It was a smooth glass rod… _no_ , it was too thick to be described as a rod… and realisation hit him, the surprise pulling a disbelieving laugh out of him for the second time that night. 

“Do you know what this is?” She asked. 

“I… I’ve seen them, in people’s minds,” Aro said. “I’ve never… held one.” 

She handed it over, and he let the cloth fall to the side. The glass was warmed from its proximity to the fire, and it was a comfortable size in his palm. It was grooved quite expertly to resemble the real thing. She continued speaking as he inspected it, and he dimly noted a hint of excitement in her voice. “I hoped you’d wear it for me,” she said, and he saw that it was indeed attached to an array of leather straps. 

“Yes. Of — of course,” he said. He saw, now, that she’d planned every detail of this encounter, and it had gone off without a hitch. The only thing she hadn’t accounted for was that he wasn’t _louder_ when she fucked him. He looked at her, again. Incredulous. Outraged. Helplessly aroused. 

It was a simple matter of fitting it around his hips. They both worked at the straps, ensuring a snug fit. The warm glass rested comfortably against his cock. 

Sulpicia gently pressed him into the rug as she checked the straps were all in place. Then she wrapped her hands around the base of the glass phallus and gave it a long, luxurious suck, twisting it down on his cock. He cried out, raking his fingers against her back, torn between _too much_ and _keep going_.

“Sulpicia —” he warbled. 

She gave the phallus a few more languid sucks before spitting it out, looking at him with wet, burning eyes. “Okay, I’m ready,” she said. 

He had his arms draped across her back, digging into her shoulder blades, and felt everything she was feeling — her arousal, her anticipation, her brand-hot feelings for him. She had ached for so long, and now she had him. 

Her thoughts were criminal as she lowered herself onto it, and the phallus’ weight pushed against his own cock quite pleasantly. He thrust his hips experimentally, and she gasped, putting a hand against his chest to steady herself, another tangled in his hair. And she rode him, and he fucked up into her, feeling every inch of her pleasure as it flowed into him, the possessive way his fingers dug into the meat of her shoulder, seeming to clutch at the cold, hard lump in her chest, her ragged, wet want, painfully raw, like her skin was tearing apart and slamming back together —

He came faster even than he did before with a shudder and a tight-lipped moan, and he mercilessly felt her own as Sulpicia followed right after, and it felt like loose, hot shrapnel in the long tail of a comet, so hard it made his teeth hurt. 

As soon as he was cognizant he realised he was gasping her name again, clutching it in his mouth ferociously, like a cat with its mauled and mangled prey, refusing to give it up, until Sulpicia kissed him again, and he thoroughly melted in her arms. Time stretched around them as they shared their breath, utterly spent.

And then squeezed her shoulder and slid the phallus out of her with a small shudder. He removed the device, straps and all, and used the cloth to wipe the ruined rouge from her cheeks, the slickness between her thighs, before cleaning himself. They both needed a bath, and he will draw one for them, later. 

For now, she watched through half-closed eyes as he lay back down on the rug beside her. “How,” was all he could think to say. “How could you possibly know?” 

And she said: “Oh, I really only _know_ two things.” Her words all slurred together with pleasure. 

“And they are…?” (A hint of frustration colouring his voice.)

“The first thing I know is that you saved my life,” she replied, flippantly. She gave him a quick peck on the lips even as her fingers plucked at a sensitive spot beneath his collarbone. “Thanks for that, by the way,” she said. 

He rolled the wound in his cheek around with his sore and much-abused tongue. “I… I think I should be thanking _you_ ,” he said, after a while. “What’s the second thing?” 

“What you just said,” she said. 

He was...completely dumbfounded. She cuddled into his chest, basking like a lizard in the sun. The sun stuck long fingers into the room before either of them were able to rise again. 

**Author's Note:**

> twelve pages of pure hedonism?!? I've peaked. 
> 
> Closing lines are very much inspired by that WTNV quote! You know the one. 
> 
> drop me a comment or find me on tumblr @idlecreature


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